


Fox-Fire

by havisham



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Banter, Enemies to Lovers, Ficlet, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: “I like my little Fox very much,” Francis said with half-a-smile. “It has always done well by me.”“Well, they have given me a defective one,” Fitzjames snapped.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	Fox-Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StripySock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/gifts).



“And how long, sir, were you going to let us sail in the wrong direction?” Fitzjames’ voice was arch, but there was a note of real displeasure in it. 

Francis allowed himself a brief, tight smile and did not reply.

It was all pointless anyway. He did not know why he was obliged to pretend that he respected Fitzjames, a man who had no right to be standing there, speaking to him as if he was Francis’ equal in any way. Being adept at the oily politics of the Admiralty meant nothing here, at the ice-cold rim of the world. 

The silence between them lengthed and grew more uncomfortable. Finally, Francis cleared his throat and inquired about the progress of Fitzjames’ magnetic observations.

Though Fitzjames kept his expression stoic, Francis was delighted to see the visible wilting of the younger man’s damned confidence. He ranted somewhat about the inefficacy of his Fox but stopped short when he realized that Francis had entirely failed to commiserate with him.

“I like my little Fox very much,” Francis said with half-a-smile. “It has always done well by me.” 

“Well, they have given me a defective one,” Fitzjames snapped, scowling at Francis briefly before his face smoothed out again into a mask of calm. All agreeableness, was James Fitzjames and rarely did he forget himself. 

But still, Fitzjames eyed him with dislike. “It is too much that you were favored in this way.” 

“Both of our instruments are exactly the same,” Francis replied blandly. 

Fitzjames snarled. “This is too much. You really are a miserable fellow.” He sighed loudly, with real feeling. “What is to be done with you, Captain Crozier?”

“Nothing whatsoever, sir,” Francis replied. “All I may do is keep away from gentlemen such as yourself, as not to sour you.”

“You are far too late!” Fitzjames exclaimed. Then his eyes lit up, looking past Crozier. “Sir John!” 

It was years later when Francis turned to James and remarked that the weather was remarkably fine. James took in the scene — the lowering skies, the chill wind and the ice, their ever-present enemy, and agreed ironically. The evening hunt had been successful, though the three seals they had managed to wrangle from the water hardly stretched to feed all the men. 

And yet if they had not come upon that friendly band of Inuit who were willing to trade with them, the situation would have been much more dire. Their new friends had even brought news of whalers being spotted and hailed by one of their sledge teams. 

Such good news could hardly be believed after all the suffering they had endured -- the loss of Sir John, the wild deprederation of the bear, which had been stopped short by the death of that man, Hickey. It was odd that such a great creature should choke on a rat, but that was how it went. 

It was on Dr. Goodsir and Lady Silence’s good advice that James was now sipping from a porcelain teacup full of seal blood. Raw meat seemed to fight well against signs of scurvy. 

Francis watched intently as James’ hand reached his lip, blood-reddened and yet intoxicating. Their eyes met and James’ twinkled at him. Such an expression would have outraged Francis long ago, when they were enemies. Now it was but a comfort to him. They had come so far, they had kept as many of their men as they could, and what was more -- they would survive the rest. Together.

Francis smiled cautiously and said, “Do you remember what happened to your Fox? I still have mine.” 

“Bother the Fox,” James said, putting down his teacup with unexpected force. “I never mastered it and so I left it in my cabin. It can sink to the bottom of the sea for all I care.” 

But then he laughed and Francis laughed with him. There were some things that could never change, in a world full of bewildering transformations.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to itsevidentvery for the quick beta! 
> 
> This isn't really a reference, but I enjoyed this [Margaret Atwood poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=32779) of the same name. 
> 
> _I saw you as another god / I could play with in this / in this maze of leaves and lovely blood_


End file.
